by Alex Wheeler
"This all appears in order," the guard said, the suspicion fading from his voice. "I better get this info to General Dodonna."
"Lieutenant Planchet specifically requested that I deliver the blueprints personally," X-7 said.
The Rebel shook his head. "Not gonna happen. We've got some new security protocols—can't have you leaving the hangar until everything's been checked out."
X-7 feigned disappointment. No need to reveal that the hangar was exactly where he wanted to be. "I've been in that ship for a long time," he complained. "I was really looking forward to a good meal, a hot shower—"
"Trust me, I've been there, pal," the guard cut in. "But we all got to do our part for the Rebellion. And right now, your part is to stay right here until I get you clearance. Understood?"
X-7 nodded. "Understood."
The guard left, promising to return with official clearance within the hour. And X-7 was left to his own devices. Forbidden from leaving the hangar.
Which, of course, was the last thing he wanted to do.
He sauntered up to a scarred, rusted Corellian cruiser that matched the specs of a ship Leia Organa had been known to use. A team of maintenance droids was working on the starboard dorsal engine while a slim, brown-haired man in a deck officer's uniform struggled with the dorsal rectenna dish.
When he paused, looking around for one of his tools, X-7 tossed him a fusioncutter.
"Trouble with the sensor array?" he asked.
"Trouble with everything," the deck officer grumbled. "Can't believe the piece of junk even flies."
"Maybe it doesn't," X-7 said agreeably. "Ever think about grounding her?"
"Ground the Falcon?" The deck officer spliced together a set of wires on the electro photo receptor. "Don't let Solo hear you say that."
"Oh?" Solo. X-7 filed the name away, and waited. He preferred not to ask questions. It was more effective to stay quiet and let your target fill the silence.
"I shouldn't even be working on her," the deck officer grumbled. "Solo never lets anyone near her but that Wookiee. Fine with me, I say. But they're off in some briefing, just talking, talking, talking, while I'm the one who has to actually do something, is all I'm saying. So I'm stuck mucking about in the grease. Like I don't have better things to do than more repairs on a ship that belongs on the junk heap."
"Think you'll get it done by the time they have to leave?" X-7 kept his voice casual. Unconcerned.
"I got a few more hours, and only a couple more repairs to make. Shouldn't be a problem."
"In that case, maybe you've got time to take a look at something for me?" X-7 said, a new plan beginning to coalesce. "Shouldn't take more than a second—I could really use an expert opinion."
The deck officer grinned. "That's all I got, buddy. Besides, be nice to work with someone who actually appreciated me, is all I'm saying. That Wookiee's always grunting and growling every time I get my wrench near his deflector shield. And last time I was dumb enough try to touch the hyperdrive? Well, lucky I still have both my arms, is all I'm saying."
"It's right over here," X-7 said, leading the deck officer into a secluded corner of the spaceport. A large pile of damaged generators shielded them from view. "I've been having quite a problem."
The deck officer looked confused when X-7 stopped. Except for a few crates of spare parts, the area was empty. "There's no ship here—hey!" His shout faded as the injected nerve toxin took effect. The man was dead before he hit the ground.
X-7 stripped him of his uniform, then slid his body into a crevice in the generator pile where, with any luck, it wouldn't be discovered for days. "Problem solved."
It took only a few minutes to slip aboard the Millennium Falcon and access the navigational computer, which had been programmed on a course for Muunilinst. Now he knew where they were headed—and, after making a few modifications to the ship's systems, he knew exactly how he would intercept them.
After that, he needed only to find himself a way off the moon. And what could be simpler? He had the Preybird. He had his blaster.
And moments later, he had a young, terrified Rebel pilot willing to do anything he asked. A blaster muzzle digging into the ribcage tended to have that effect on people. A more experienced soldier might have turned the situation to his advantage, realizing that X-7 couldn't afford to shoot. Not if he wanted to get out alive. A more experienced soldier certainly would have known better than to climb into the Preybird as ordered, and relay the series of codes necessary to gain departure clearance.
A more experienced soldier likely would not have believed X-7's promise. "Do as I say, and I'll let you live."
But X-7 had chosen well, and this soldier was no soldier at all. He was little more than a scared boy, wearing his uniform like a costume.
And, once he'd served his purpose, he was disposable.
There was no need to use the blaster. The vacuum of space did the job just fine, without leaving behind a bloody mess. As the pilot's body drifted away into the black, X-7 set a course for Muunilinst. It was time to put his plan in motion.
* * *
The man he needed proved easy to track down. Soon his pinched, grizzled face was looming on the communicator screen.
"It'll cost you," the pilot said, once he heard X-7's proposal.
"Name your price," X-7 suggested. "My employer has rather deep pockets."
"And you're sure it's safe? Solo's got a reputation, you know. You'd have to be crazy to go up against the Millennium Falcon. Especially in a TIE fighter. Those things practically explode if you sneeze on them."
"I've taken care of the Falcon. Just show up at the coordinates I've given you. It's completely safe." X-7 smiled, offering up a perfect simulation of candid sincerity. "You have my personal guarantee."
The Muunilinst system was still hours away when X-7 began his transformation. He began with the physical—X-7 had been taught to believe that change happened from the outside in. And his specialized medpac made change easy.
Painful, but easy.
Ignoring the localized nerve anesthetic, he used a small durasteel mallet to crush his nasal bones. He set them with the bone fuser, adding a bump and a slight curve that gave his face a completely different look. Colored lenses turned his eyes a bright green, and a black tattoo across his neck marked him as a member of the A'mari. This was the former ruling class of Malano III, the planet he would claim as his own.
The chances of Leia knowing anything about Malano III or the A'mari were low, but X-7 left nothing to chance.
His new identity was that of a warrior, and a warrior needed scars. He raked the sonic scalpel in a jagged line from his left eye to his chin, pleasuring in the pain.
There were easier ways, but he preferred the pain. It kept his mind clear. Reminded him of the stakes.
Reminded him of the Commander, and the only home he'd ever known.
A blaster set on stun, aimed at the chest, the back, the shoulders.
A simple application of bacta, and his false identity was complete: a battle-scarred warrior, fresh from the front lines.
X-7 called up the details of his new persona on the datapad, running his eyes over and over them, although they were already stored in his head.
"Tobin Elad," he repeated aloud, testing the new name on his tongue.
"I am Tobin Elad." He watched himself saying it in a plane of mirrored transparisteel, mastering every twitch of the eye, every quirk of the lips, any and every sign that might give away the lie.
He practiced smiling, lighting his dead eyes with a life that almost seemed real.
He practiced laughing.
He practiced the lie of his humanity until he nearly believed it himself. And then he knew he was ready. X-7 would sink beneath the surface, poised, waiting for Tobin Elad to get the job done. And when he did, X-7 would emerge. And strike.
He wiped the details of his false identity from the datapad and called up the picture of Leia, the one he'd first seen. It was a few years old,
from a time before her eyes had taken on their sad, haunted look. She was smiling, her long hair wrapped around her head in an elaborate braid. Her head was inclined slightly forward, as if she were about to share a secret with the holocam.
This was the Leia he planned to target. This Leia still existed, he was sure of it. The younger, sweeter Leia who lived beneath the cynical Rebel. The one who longed to connect with someone who could truly understand her, with whom she could share all her secrets.
"Your wait is almost over, Princess," X-7 whispered, his eyes fixed on her face. "I'm on my way."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"I'm bringing us out of hyperdrive now," Han informed his passengers. "We'll be just outside the Muunilinst system, so it should be smooth sailing from here on in."
"It's about time," Leia complained. "If I have to be stuck in this tin can with you for any longer, I'll scream."
Stuck with me? Han thought in frustration. She was the one who'd been pestering him the whole trip—check this, try this, have you thought of that, and on and on. The princess just didn't know how to keep her mouth shut.
"Feel free to get out here," Han retorted, gesturing to the gleaming strands of stars whipping past the ship. "Say the word and I'll just drop you right out the hatch."
"You'd really do it, wouldn't you?" Leia asked incredulously.
"You bet I would, sweetheart."
Chewbacca growled.
"Oh yes I would," Han insisted. "And if you don't stop taking her side, you can go with her, you hairy fuzzball."
Chewbacca yowled.
Han rolled his eyes as he took the ship out of hyperdrive. "Since when are you so sensitive, Chewie? I was just—whoa!" The ship shuddered.
"What's happening?" Leia cried, almost tumbling into his lap. She caught herself just in time.
"Someone's shooting at us, Princess. In case you hadn't noticed." Han pulled the Falcon around, trying to get a glimpse of his attacker. The guy was right on his tail.
Han jerked the ship up, then hard to starboard, dodging another blast of laserfire.
"There's someone shooting at us!" Luke cried, already scrambling down the tube that led to the ventral quad laser cannons.
"You don't say." Han accelerated, trying to get some distance from the attacker—who was a good shot. He took the Falcon into a screaming dive, then pulled up, hard, drawing level with the enemy. "Gotcha!" he shouted, as the TIE fighter came into view. "Kid, why aren't we blowing this Imperial slugbrain out of the sky?"
"Something's wrong!" Even over the staticky comlink, the alarm in Luke's voice came through loud and clear. "The weapons system is offline."
"Well, get it online!" Han jerked his head at Chewie, but the Wookiee was already on his way, closely followed by R2-D2.
"Sir, might I suggest evasive action?" C-3PO put in.
"Excellent suggestion," Han said through gritted teeth. He took them into a corkscrew dive. "Wish I'd thought of that myself."
"Still, we must get the lasers back online, Captain Solo," C-3PO added. The bucket of bolts was just a fount of helpful advice. "Otherwise I'm afraid I estimate our odds at seven thousand, three hundred thirty six to—"
"What did I say about quoting me odds?" Han increased the forward thrust. The ship bucked and shuddered as Imperial laserfire blasted their deflector shield. They were too close to the moons of Muunilinst to safely go into hyperdrive, but if he could get just a little room—
"What are you doing?" Leia asked in alarm.
"Running away," Han snapped. "Unless you still think that's the coward's way."
"No, running away is good," Leia said quickly. "Let's go. But why can't we just go into hyper—" Leia fell silent as a second ship dropped out of hyperdrive.
"Company," Han said grimly. A rusted Preybird starfighter. No match for the Falcon—if the Falcon could shoot. He had to get out of there, fast. Their shields couldn't take another direct hit. And if the deflector system failed, too…
"Wait!" Leia gripped his shoulder. "Look!"
The new ship swooped toward the TIE. Laserfire lit up the sky. The fighter swung sharply to port, returning fire. It scored a direct hit on the Preybird.
"What's he doing?" Han said, wondering what kind of nut was piloting the ship. "That old ship can't take that kind of fire."
The Preybird dodged the next round and unleashed a laser blast of its own. The ships danced around each other, laserfire exploding on all sides. Han could do nothing but watch.
He hated it.
"What's going on with those laser cannons?" he shouted. This was his fight.
"No luck," Luke called back. "The cannons are jammed and even if we could get them working, we have no targeting capability. The whole system's gone haywire!"
"Great," Han muttered. "Just great."
He swung the ship around and accelerated, heading straight for the TIE fighter.
"What are you doing?" Leia asked, panic filling her voice. "What happened to running away?"
"Change of plans," Han said, pushing the ship faster.
"We don't have any weapons!"
"Glad you've been paying attention." The TIE loomed in his sights. "But he doesn't know that."
"That other ship is doing just fine—"
"I don't know about you, Highness, but I fight my own battles."
"And how, exactly, are we supposed to fight without any weapons?"
The TIE fighter loomed in the viewscreen. They were almost on top of it. "We'll figure that out when we—"
"He's retreating!" Leia exclaimed.
"Of course he is," Han said calmly, trying to disguise his shock. And relief.
The Preybird took off after the fleeing TIE fighter, firing a single shot to its starboard solar array wing. The Imperial ship exploded.
Han tensed, waiting for the Preybird to make a move. Sure, the other pilot had helped them out of a jam. But in his experience, people only helped you when they wanted something. Maybe this guy wanted his cargo. Or his ship.
"How we doing with those laser cannons?" Han asked nervously.
A transmission came in over the comlink.
"Corellian freighter, this is…request assistance…" Only a few clear words bubbled up through the storm of static. "Damaged my…and power generator…forced to…not sure if I…please send—"
The call cut off abruptly. They watched in horror as the ship belched out a plume of black exhaust, then dipped precariously toward a nearby moon. The Preybird glowed orange with heat as it plummeted through the atmosphere—and then disappeared beneath the clouds.
Leia's eyes widened with horror. "We have to go after him!"
"I thought the only thing that mattered was the mission, Princess," Han teased, quoting words she'd fired at him a hundred times.
She looked at him in disgust. "He saved us. Now he's our responsibility."
"Hey, no one asked for his help," Han grumbled. But he'd already set a course for the surface. That was the thing about Leia. She never understood when he was joking. It was almost like she wanted to think the worst of him.
So let her, he thought. Why should he care?
He shouldn't.
But he did.
It took them almost an hour to find the crash site. Magnetic disturbances in the moon's atmosphere made it difficult to pick up the Preybird's distress beacon until they were right on top of it. But they finally found the ship, or what was left of it. The Preybird lay at the base of a jagged cliffside, smashed nearly to pieces.
Leia caught her breath. "Do you think he's…?"
"Well, I doubt he's having a tea party in there," Han said, keeping his voice light to cover his concern. No reason to upset the others—at least until there was a reason. "But only one way to find out."
The moon was uninhabited, and Han could see why. The air was dense and murky, rich with the scent of oxite. The bluish globe of Muunilinst hung overhead, on the opposite side of the sky from the dim, jaundiced sun. Scrub brush littered the dusty ground, spotting th
e dirt-gray hills of rock and clay that stretched to the horizon. There was no movement or sound in the heavy air; the world seemed still and dead.
Except…
"There's no one inside," Luke reported, after examining the Preybird wreckage. Black scorch marks scraped across what was left of the hull. "At least we know he's not dead."
"Not yet." Han pointed toward the large, inhuman tracks leading toward and then away from the ship, disappearing into the hills.
A thin groove in the dirt followed the footsteps, as if the creature had dragged something behind it.
The groove was stained with a trail of blood.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Blood seeped through the bandage. A crimson stain spread swiftly across his shirt. He'd slashed himself deeper than intended, and could feel the life pumping out of him with each step.
No matter.
They would find him when he was ready to be found. And when that happened, a graver injury could only work in his favor.
No one would ever guess that the gashes had come from his fire blade rather than the crash.
X-7 had waited an hour before activating the distress beacon—and in the meantime, he'd been busy. After laying the trail, he'd doubled back, lying in wait for his "rescuers" to arrive. Now he shadowed them as they followed the tracks he'd laid, leaving the Wookiee and the little R2 droid to guard the ship. He watched closely as the princess forged ahead, the two men scrambling to keep up with her.
So the princess was foolhardy, her friends powerless to stop her from blundering into trouble.
Interesting.
X-7 filed it away for future reference. He tread silently and stayed close. From a few paces behind, he could hear them bickering, could hear the protocol droid complaining, could hear the two men dither over which way to go as the tracks faded.
They didn't look like much of a threat.
Still, X-7 knew better than to trust his first impression. Many men had made that mistake when encountering him. Few lived to make it a second time.